kinkfest | Final Fantasy XII (Balthier/Basch) (Reply)

Title: Bargain
Author/Artist: Anya
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Somewhat random smex, language
Word count: 1513
A/N: Balthier trades secrets for what he wants most, but it may be Basch who gives too much in exchange.
Prompt: July 17 - 23. Final Fantasy XII, Balthier/Basch: Unwilling sharing of secrets - "I'll take your secret to my grave"

July 17 - 23. Final Fantasy XII, Balthier/Basch: Unwilling sharing of secrets - "I'll take your secret to my grave"

[A/N: Yes, I'm in Melbourne, Australia. : ( So the time zone may seem abit out of whack, posting wise. It's just 1230am here!]

Bargains

Basch had taken several cups of coffee to fortify himself through what he knew was going to be a difficult afternoon, but he still felt the oncoming touches of a headache when two Imperial guards finally escorted the thief they had caught hours before into his office.

"As ordered, sir." One of the guards saluted.

Basch nodded wearily. "You are both dismissed."

Balthier was already looking around the cluttered office curiously when the door closed behind him, with nothing in his expression suggesting that the sky pirate was put out in the least by the shackles around his wrists and his arrest. The searching stare was familiar, as though Balthier was well acquainted with this place: but of course, the man was once a Judge.

"You've tried to make some order of it."

"Order wasn't one of my brother's strengths," Basch agreed. A year after the fact, it no longer felt surreal to refer to his brother in the past tense. He pulled off gauntlets to pick up the charge sheet on the mahogany desk before him, rubbing the fingers of his free hand at his temple.

"What were you trying to steal from the Imperial Museum in broad daylight?"

"Must I tell?" Balthier grinned, full of misplaced mischief.

"Even Lord Larsa cannot pardon you without good reason, Balthier," Basch said reproachfully. "If you're not cooperative-"

"Must I be cooperative?"

Basch carefully stifled his growing irritation. He'd known Balthier was going to be difficult. At least Fran had escaped: that was some relief. Coffee. Coffee had been calming. He flicked his tongue against the dregs on his teeth, and took a deep breath. "Of course, unless you prefer arrest, and trial, and prison."

"What a terrible bore. How about you get these off," Balthier stretched his wrists forward, adorned with the nethicite-laced shackles, "And then I'll quit the scene? I know when I've stayed quite past my cue."

"As you no doubt should be aware of, having graduated from the Academy yourself," Basch pointed out mildly, "The Justice system does not operate that way."

"I was going to give sufficient remuneration," Balthier replied in arch remonstration. "I've two secrets to tell to trade for my freedom. One belongs to the Kardan Knife, one is mine. Two secrets for liberty, that should be fair trade."

Basch thought that over. It was true that in the Archadian system there was an odd barter system of information in place that allowed scoundrels to be let off conditionally in exchange for information. And the Kardan Knife was a growing thorn in Lord Larsa's side: an organized crime syndicate that had developed in the chaos that had followed from the political struggle a year past, when the deaths of most of the Judge-Magisters had brought the Justice Department to the brink of collapse. And besides, Balthier remained a companion whose friendship he had earned through that difficult journey protecting his Queen: he did not want to see the pirate incarcerated. He knew how much the younger man treasured his freedom – likely, prison would be slow death, for him.

"Very well." He paused, when Balthier brightened. "But no more theft in my jurisdiction."

"I won't be caught again," Balthier agreed cheerfully, which Basch supposed wryly was the best agreement he could get from the pirate. "Look in Sochen with a resonator if you want to find the viper's nest. They're hidden beneath the ground, near the central waterfall."

Balthier made a note of that. He had suspected Kardan Knife to have headquarters in or around Archadia for a time, but not even the large network of operatives that he'd inherited from his brother had been able to discern the location. "Thank you."

"And for my secret," Basch blinked when he realized Balthier had padded noiselessly to his side while he had looked down to write. "You'll have to swear to keep it to yourself. I'm a fairly private person, despite what you may think: I'll not want my secrets bandied about into common knowledge."

Basch was curious now despite himself: he had fully intended just a moment ago to forgo the personal secret. The tidbit about the organization had more than earned the pirate's freedom, but he nodded now, instead. "I promise. I'll take your secret to my grave."

Satisfied, Balthier leaned down, and Basch fought the urge not to jerk back in surprise when lips brushed against his ear. The breath from the pirate's murmur was hot, ticklish, and the shackle was heavy against the arm he had left on the rest of his chair. Balthier's voice was husky, purring, and the words made the hair on the nape of his back prickle, forced him to inhale sharply.

"I love sucking cock."

Balthier was grinning again when he pulled back, the invitation clear in his eyes, seemingly highly amused at how Basch could only gape at him, openmouthed. Sure, the man was strikingly handsome, and he would be lying if he said he had never wanted the man (reality was likely a little worse), but really-

"I'll um, er... I never thought... er... well, with Fran..."

"She's my partner, my closest friend, but not a lover." Balthier said lazily. "And given what I've just said, also poorly placed to satisfy me. Want me to prove my words, Basch?"

Basch had never heard his name said that way before: in the length of a sensuous purr, rolled about in another man's throat, and he swallowed. "You've already earned your freedom."

"Fair to the bitter end, I see." Balthier drawled. "Think of this as a bonus of cooperating with your Justice system."

"I've always thought of you as a friend, and-"

"And I've noticed how your eyes used to follow me in the dark." Balthier countered. Checked and cornered, Basch gave. He took the key from his desk and unlocked the shackles, gently unlatching them and placing them over a stack of litigation files.

Balthier moved quickly, already squirreled under the desk with his hands on plated breeches, smirking up at Basch from between his thighs. "Why don't you help me here a little, Basch?"

--

Getting caught had been a stupid mistake born of carelessness, but, ever the opportunist, Balthier supposed now he was thankful for it. Basch's male musk was heady, and Gods, the man tasted good, deep in the pirate's throat and stretching him to the limit. Balthier hadn't been lying when he said he enjoyed this: it was the scent, the taste, the feel of thighs twitching around his shoulders, the wet slick of flesh under his fingers whenever he bobbed back, the cool weight of balls in his palm. And the control, of course: Basch was arched over the desk, his breath issuing in harsh, shallow pants, pretty gray-blue eyes dazed in bewildered lust, a puppet to tongues and teeth and fingers.

Balthier smirked around the pulsing flesh, stroked his tongue against the folded foreskin and the bitter-salt fluid leaking from the tip, and sank all the way back down, purring as he did. Muscles jumped under the palm that stroked to thighs, and Basch moaned, gruff, pleading, wanting. Balthier fought the urge to take a hand down to his breeches to relieve some of his own pressure. This was exchange, and he'd have to work to get the secret he thought Basch was harboring.

It was when he began to suckle in earnest that the first whisper of his name passed Basch's lips, and there was the secret, in the reverent breath, the tenderness, Gods, that depth of want. It wasn't long when fingers, stroking in his hair, curled in warning that was echoed by a stutter above him, and Balthier pulled back, jerking roughly at the prick in his throat as he did so, and greedily welcomed the storm: the harsh cry, badly stifled against a leather glove, the uncontrollable tremors, the buck forward, the bitter essence.

Basch slumped back against the chair, eyes closed, his breathing erratic, as Balthier settled down into crossed legs and delicately swiped excess from his chin onto fingers and into lips. He grinned again when he realized Basch was watching him. So?

"You..." Basch took a shaky breath, "You weren't lying."

"No," Balthier agreed, if a little hoarse from his efforts, and Basch blinked fast, then, realizing his secret had been torn from him with purrs and wet heat and pleasure: he flushed to the roots of wheat-gold hair, and looked away quickly. "Don't worry. I'll keep yours if you'll keep mine."

--

"You look far too pleased with yourself," Fran observed later, when they were arrowing out towards the blue horizon. "And your voice is a little different."

Balthier chuckled. Honey, spiced wine, and a localized minor Cure were little defence against a Viera's hearing. "I'm always pleased with myself, and the voice was a side effect of an excellent bargain."

Fran sniffed. "The sort that brings trouble."

"Now that's just unfair, my dear."

-fin-